


four calling birds

by oversized_child (Hell_on_Wheels)



Series: 12 Days of Christmas [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-23 18:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17085845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hell_on_Wheels/pseuds/oversized_child
Summary: a call from the past





	four calling birds

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter could be read as a part of the "Humorous Cases of Foul Villainy" AU  
> i mean if you want? because claire in this series is a lot more emotionally susceptible  
> [Chapter Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/33ciP3funwyJLyPM6v09LY?si=_cTrUdTbQ_GDMsxMKJk_Tw)

There's a delicate martini glass on her table, sitting there. She's at a wooden counter, in a dimly lit bar, the glass filled with a red liquid.

Claire sighs, and holds her cocktail glass carefully. The dim light shines off her glass and her bare shoulders.

She takes a slow sip from her blood red drink, and laughed ironically.

Her phone is on the table, open to her voice messages. She's got a long list of various thirsty men, but the one at the very top is the only one that matters to Claire. It's the only named one. The one among tens of messages.

_Michael_

_Today, 6pm._

She looks at the voice message, and, for a fleeting second, considers listening to it. Her finger is wavering over the voice message itself. She sighs, drops her hand on her lap, and picks up her drink again. She picks it up, and admires her condensed world, the bar, from behind a red tint.

The bartender, from behind her bar, sighs. The bartender's known Claire from the first second she's entered the house, and they rapidly became friends.

She's only seen Claire once like this before.

Claire puts down her glass, and traces her finger along the rim of the glass. There's no decoration on the side, as per Claire's usual.

She picks up her phone and unlocks it. The artificial light shines in her face, the voice messages still open. She still hasn't deleted the voice message.

It's been years, thousands of moments and men between her and Michael. She's tried so hard and nearly succeeded to forget.

It's been years.

Moments.

Pictures.

Memories.

* * *

_Baby - baby, come on. Let's talk this out._

What more was there to talk about?

Thousands and thousands of deleted voice messages, of unpicked up phone calls.

What's the difference about this one? 

 _It's Michael,_ her mind replies.

But she's deleted tens and tens of voice messages from Michael too.

_But you were mad at him._

Aren't I still mad at him?

She sighed. She nodded at the bartender and grabbed her jacket. She shrugged it on, and she left the dimly lit bar. There's gently blowing cold air, the feeling nice on Claire's face. From her jacket, she draws out a cigarette box. Claire opens it, and draws out a thin cigarette. She got out of smoking years ago, but there's times when she just - needs a little push.

Claire also pulls out a lighter and, gently, lights her cigarette. She leans against a nearby railing, and looks up at the sky. There are thousands and thousands of stars, each with light years of distances between them. There's a bird in the distance, lightly calling. She wonders distantly if the bird should really be up so late.

She wonders if Michael is looking at the same sky as her, but then internally berates herself for thinking about him. She inhales, the sharp scent of the cigarette filling her senses. Claire exhales, a plume of smoke coming out the end. She always thought people with cigarettes were either idiots or the coolest people on this planet. She's not sure which she is, and maybe that's why she should've known when she saw Michael smoking, that one hazy night, in the bar.

As she's walking home, she's finished the cigarette fairly quickly. The nicotine never gave her a high, it was really that burn she was looking for. Like a stiff glass of whiskey. Or maybe she had only really started for Michael. A bird is calling.

Claire walks by a garbage can, and, putting out her cigarette on the ash tray, takes a deep breath of clean air. Pausing for a moment, she dumps out the rest of her pack.  _I'm going to get back into it if I don't stop._ Just like when it got broken off with Michael.

Claire continues slowly walking, her destination getting closer and closer into sight. As she rounds the corner, she's greeted with her actual, non-kiss and break up house. A nondescript green townhouse. Claire sighs and pulls out her keys. She sticks it in and tries to turn it - it's jammed, she notices - and jiggles it a little. The door gives way.

She surveys the state of her room. Disheveled, as usual. The bed is covered with clothes that need to be washed, all sorts of books that are piled around. It feels familiar, one of the only places Claire hasn't changed since Michael left. Or maybe since Claire had left Michael. She drops off her purse, her jacket, and closes her door.

She walks over to her kitchen, and pulls out a cupboard. There's cranberry juice and vodka. She pours about half and half, or maybe more vodka, maybe more cranberry, into a rum glass. Michael would've berated her for putting a glorified cocktail into a rum glass.

She sits at her table, and she cracks open a window. The cool winter air flows in. Gentle bird tunes come through.

Claire shivers, and remembers that she took off her jacket. She turns on her phone one last time, unlocks it, and her finger hovers over the delete button.

At the very last second, her finger clicks on the play button. Sighing, she picks up her concoction.

 _Hey there, Claire. I - I know it's been years since we've last seen each other, and I understand that you probably hate my guts. I wanted you to know -_ Claire takes a sip of her drink here -  _that I'm getting married. Remember Megan? *laughs* I broke it off for you, but turns out I really did love her. *sigh.* I would like to ask you to be a bridesmaid for Megan - even though we did break up, she had a soft spot for you. Anyway, call me back, and we can talk through the details of when the marriage - shit, is that beep meaning the message is almost over -_ a woman's voice responds  _yes, honey._ It's fond but it's still mocking.  _Well, fuck me. Uh, call me, and -_

The voice message cuts off abruptly, and through Claire's drunken haze, she finds it odd. She notes that the bird that was once calling had stopped.

 _Perhaps it's dead._ Her eyes grow heavier and heavier, and her head falls on the table. In seconds, she's asleep.

There's a rum glass, on her table, on its side, overturned. It's sitting in a pool of red liquid.


End file.
